Page 2 of Bidding on a Second Chance
Despite her desperation, she wouldn’t let Grandma and Grandpa rescue her, if such a thing could be helped. After Mom and Dad died in an accident when she was nine, her grandparents had raised her and her older brother, but the elderly couple didn’t get around well anymore. She shouldn’t have answered their query about which clinic she’d come to. She hobbled out to the waiting room, the crutch rubbing her sore arm and side with every step. What a wreck. At least no white-haired retirees awaited her.
Who could she call on for a ride? Piper eased into a seat and sent a prayer heavenward. The incident in the parking lot of Charlie’s Hardware had fractured her phone screen into an intricate spiderweb of glass. She scrolled through her contacts, straining to read names through the broken display.
Someone approached, so Piper shifted her crutches to clear the walkway. The person stopped and cleared a masculine-sounding throat. Worn brown work boots stood, one visible on either side of her phone. Jeans. Canvas jacket open over a thermal shirt. Square jaw. Blue eyes the shade of distant mountains. Mop of curly brown hair, begging for her fingers.
Graham.
Attraction, no more welcome than the truck had been, slammed into her.
Lord, please, I need a break.
The pain in her foot chided her to make her prayers more specific.
Rest. I need rest. And protection from more pain.
How had her ex heard about the accident? Probably from Cody, his best friend, who’d been first on the scene. She clutched her phone tighter and shifted her injured foot back, partially under her chair. As if Graham, an expert at spotting details, wouldn’t have noted the clunky black brace the moment he’d walked in.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Stubborn smugness replaced his concern. Though more irritating, the expression made him no less handsome. “You texted me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Wanna bet?” His lips twitched with the smile that used to make it easy to forgive his teasing. Too easy.
Her fingers flew over her phone screen. Because of the condition of the surface, navigating to her sent messages took three times longer than normal. “I only texted Lucy and Grand—”
Oh no. Not Grandma.Graham. Her face flamed. Distracted by pain and the broken screen, she’d selected the wrong name.
She blinked hard. She’d expected to see more of Graham soon because of her plan to get her nephew back on the straight and narrow, butseehad been the operative word. She hadn’t planned to interact with him, even on her best day—which wasnottoday.
She reread the message to avoid looking up—the more she looked at him, the harder it would be to maintain emotional distance. “This obviously wasn’t meant for you.”
“And being hit by a truck isn’t a ‘no alarm’ situation. You aren’t driving yourself home.” Calm, cool, and in control, this was the Graham she’d fallen in love with.
The Graham she would never allow back into her heart.
As if he wanted back in.
She peeked at him. The stubble covering his jaw—not to mention the casual clothes—meant he was off today. The narrowing of his smoky-blue eyes meant she was a problem to solve. One he might be willing to solve by sweeping her off her feet, but only literally and only if he saw it as the quickest means to getting on with his day.
“I’ll figure it out.”
Graham remained as unmoved as the mountains that formed a backdrop for the town. “You didn’t drive yourself here.”
“Jason Keen happened to be at the store. He drove me.” The flashing lights of the ambulance and the police cruiser had drawn a lot of attention, probably resulting in the best day of sales Charlie had experienced in years. Maybe he’d give her a discount next time she went in for supplies. Except it’d be a while before she was in shape to refinish any more furniture to sell in her secondhand clothing and home goods store, Second Chances. The delay would put her weeks behind schedule.
Weeks she didn’t have.
Graham shifted, and her gaze, like a persistent homing pigeon, flitted to his face again. “If Jason drove you here, you don’t have your car. Even if you did, the good citizens of Redemption Ridge don’t deserve to be subjected to you driving with your left foot on the pedals.”
She shuddered at the idea, and her cheeks notched a few degrees hotter.
“Did you report this to the police?”
“Of course.” She hadn’t wanted to. In a town this size, with only a handful of officers, it’d been far too likely Graham would respond to the call. Then she’d gone and texted him herself.
“How did it happen?”
